“For madame’s sake,” pleaded Hans, “be quick. She is motioning to you to join the racers. There, the skate is almost on. Quick, mynheer, fasten it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between Master Schummel and yourself.” “You are a noble fellow, Hans!” cried Peter, yielding at last. He sprang to his post just as the white handkerchief fell to the ground. The bugle sends forth its blast--loud, clear, and ringing. Off go the boys! “Mine Gott,” cries a tough old fellow from Delft. “They beat everything, these Amsterdam youngsters. See them!” See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one of them. What mad errand are they on? Ah, I know. They are hunting Peter van Holp. He is some fleet-footed runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged cousins are in full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the runaway. The pursuit grows furious--Ben is foremost! The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way. Who is hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter van Holp; fly, Peter--Hans is watching you. He is sending all his fleetness, all his strength into your feet. Your mother and sister are pale with eagerness. Hilda is trembling and dares not look up. Fly, Peter! The crowd has not gone deranged, it is only cheering. The pursuers are close upon you! Touch the white column! It beckons--it is reeling before you--it-- “Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the silver skates!” “Peter van Holp!” shouted the crier. But who heard him? “Peter van Holp!” shouted a hundred voices, for he was the favorite boy of the place. “Huzza! Huzza!” Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a lively air, then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking something new was about to happen, deigned to listen and to look. The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood first. Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end. Hans, who had borrowed a strap from the cake boy, was near the head. Three gaily twined arches were placed at intervals upon the river facing the Van Gleck pavilion. Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys and girls moved forward, led on by Peter. It was beautiful to see the bright procession glide along like a living creature. It curved and doubled, and drew its graceful length in and out among the arches--whichever way Peter, the head, went, the body was sure to follow. Sometimes it steered direct for the center arch, then, as if seized with a new impulse, turned away and curled itself about the first one, then unwound slowly and, bending low, with quick, snakelike curvings, crossed the river, passing at length through the furthest arch.